


Wiggles and wriggles and wounds, oh my!

by aspiratixxn



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:51:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22235425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspiratixxn/pseuds/aspiratixxn
Summary: Tony really wants to say fuck but he can’t in front of one insistently wiggly red spider boy. Who also happens to injured and oh my f-
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Kudos: 20





	Wiggles and wriggles and wounds, oh my!

**Author's Note:**

> For @jalapenobarnes‘s (jalapenobarnes.tumblr.com) writing challenge! I know I just signed up but I sort of just churned this out because it was fun to write (andbecauseI’mavoidingmytwootherficsheh). My prompt was “I’m trying to stop the bleeding!”, which just screamed Tony attempting to parent injured Peter. 
> 
> There is mentions of blood and injury though it's light detailing.

“Will you PLEASE STOP THE WIGGLINGS.” Tony can’t curse because Peter is a child and he’s really trying to cut the habit for the press, but he so wants to say fuck right now. Like really, really wants to say fuck.

The cause of said desire is of course one grievously injured Peter Parker, who’s normally fluffy hair is slick with red and he wheezes with every breath. The wheezing is less concerning when it’s because Peter’s laughing at his own stupid jokes, coming out in a pour of words.

“B-but Mr. S-Stark,” he giggles, “I’m a SPIDER! We wiggle!” And to prove his point, he wiggles a little bit even though it makes him wince from all the gashes on his body.

Tony has been blessed with multiple kids in his life. But between Harvey, Morgan and Peter, he can finally feel his age catching up with him.

To combat the raging headache beginning to bud in the back of his head, Tony does a categorical assessment of the situation. Peter’s spider suit is torn to pieces pretty much. It’s not really salvageable so he’ll strip it for parts for the next suit. Friday and Karen do a scan and reveal some pretty heavy bruising and fractured bones but no internal bleeding or compound fractures (thank _fuck_). Peter’s weirdo heal factor is already plugging itself in so those will be gone in a day or two. Peter himself on the other hand refuses to stop talking or moving for even a minute and he’s babbling something about how spiders spin their webs and how they walk and how their legs bend. Who knows who spider’s legs bend?? Peter Parker that’s who.

“I am. Trying. To stop. The bleeding! So, if you’ll just be a good little spider and lie still for your flies or whatever you drain the goo out of, that’d be amazing. Fantastic. Absolutely wonderful.” Tony has never felt more grateful that he has an entire med kit packed into his suit as he’s spraying Neosporin on basically every inch of Peter’s body. If he could, he might be tempted to slam dunk the kid into a whole pool of the stuff. There is to be _no _infections on his watch. Not after the shit he experienced in Hong Kong a few months ago. That was absolutely horrible for a regular person, who’s to say what it’ll do to Peter who can’t take painkillers or antibiotics?

“Ewwww, goo? Goo’s gross. I mean I know spiders dissolve the guts of flies and other various small insects, and sometimes male spiders but like, what do you think it’s like to just slurp goo every day for food?” Peter makes a face, interrupted briefly by the sting that the spray brings. “But I guess it’s the buggy way since flies do it too. Hey Mr. Stark, did you know that flies secrete enzymes through their feet and they drink _through their feet?_ Or that butterflies eat flesh? Did you know that?”

Deep breaths Stark.

“I did not but you know what, of everything I sure am glad you weren’t bitten by a butterfly. Or a fly. Or any other enzyme foot secreting insect.” It’s onto the wrapping even though the worst of the lacerations are already starting to look a little better. Tony whips out a sleeve of gauze and several rolls of bandages to begin wrapping around the more severe oozing cuts, mostly located on his arms and legs though there’s quite the nasty one on his chest. Peter snorts as he begins, fingers fumbling just a bit. He’s really not good at this. His forte is more like slapping on an Avengers band-aid on Morgan’s everyday scrapes, bumps and bruises. Pepper’s the real patcher-upper. She’s off in Thailand right now though, enjoying some mangoes and a very stubborn board of directors, insisting on cutting all funds to the avengers/S.H.I.E.L.D initiative.

“It’s not enzyme foot secretions! It’s an enzyme secreting foot!” Peter huffs. “And I mean yeah this spider stuff is pretty cool y’know especially for sneaking out and stuff like walking on walls is the bomb diggity but wouldn’t it be cool if I could fly?! Imagine that!!” That’s one arm down.

“First of all, spider boy, as long as you’re not secreting enzymes on the carpet it’s fine. You know how Pepper gets about her rugs.” Peter nods solemnly, apparently remembering the Jell-O goo incident on her nice Persian rug. “Secondly, have you been sneaking out? You know how I feel about you breaking curfew young man.” And it’s a pretty generous one in his mind, at the exact stroke of midnight. Hey if Cinderella gets that much then it’s good enough for his little pumpkins to roll home and go to sleep. Peter shrugs and suddenly has the urge to look at everything else, the smoldering buildings and piles of debris, instead of meeting Tony’s eyes. He’s even mumbling YMCA to keep from saying stupid things. Oh how they grow without his notice. He sighs, thinking he’ll have to update the protocol again. Or possibly reinstall it, given Peter’s previous compulsions to just _uninstall the fucking programs_. Having finished the other arm, he moves onto the quickly wrap up the bits and bangs on Peter’s legs. “Third, who says bomb diggity anymore? You’re way too young to even know that term.”

“What! No way Mr. Stark, some of my favorite stuff to say is like, bomb diggity and radical! It’s a renaissance of 90’s slang.” And there’s that big, toothy smile he gives when he’s trying to butter up and get himself out of trouble. Ha! Tony’s installed a _Notepad of things Peter does that are bad _protocol to make sure he and Pete have some talks about things like this. Sure his old man brain might get flooded with other stuff but ever faithful Friday will remind him of it later.

The last bit requires Peter to strip off the remnants of his suit, which is going to be a bit of a problem considering Peter has a case of the jelly limbs right now. As in he’s so exhausted and beat up that his body has effectively said _nope!_ to any form of movement that isn’t wiggling in place and being pushed around gently. So it’s the old scissors trick (not a trick) and Tony just uses some super duper ultra sharp scissors to gently cut through the wires and fabric of Peter’s suit. Peter moans a small complaint (_I liked this suit Mr. Stark_) but Tony’s more worried about the still dribbling tear that crosses his chest.

Peter heals like there’s no tomorrow, something that Tony only wishes he could have sometimes. But still this one looks like it might scar, especially given the kid’s habit of picking at scars. But for now all he can really do is wrap it up and-

_Boss._ Friday’s soothing voice chimes up and as soothing as he’s made it out to be, after radio silence all this time Tony nearly shits himself. _It appears that Mr. Parker will need stitches for this one._

Aw, fuck.

Well Tony is garbage with a needle and thread so there’s no way he’s going to be doing those stitches. In fact Peter is normally the one sewing so this poses a slight problem. He doesn’t want to move the kid, who’s mumbling now about 1950’s fashion (again, who knows about these things?? Peter). And forget ambulances since they take forever to do anything and that’s not really Tony’s style in the first place.

_There’s a nearby clinic, about a quarter mile away boss. _Ah Friday, ever so helpful lovely Friday.

A quarter mile isn’t that bad, he reasons to himself. Even he, with his emaciated lungs, can get that far without the suit so it should be a cinch to do it in the suit right? Even with a hundred sixty four (that’s 164) pound child in his arms.

Now the real question is how to get Peter there. He’s started to sing drinking songs (he’s not even old enough to drink yet why does he know these??) and is kind of waving his arms around. Well, it’s probably not because of blood loss because Karen, and by extension Friday, would’ve let him know. The easiest thing to do would just be to scoop up the lil spider and princess carry/fly him there and pass it off to a real professional. But a part of Tony really hesitates because what if that hurts him? He’s not really known to fly slow so what if the jet propulsion opens up new words or the turbulence in-flight causes him to shift shards of bone from his fractured humerus or what if! Peter decides to start dancing to his singing!

There’s a twinge behind his eyes and he groans, pressing the heel of his palm into them. Okay. So logically none of those things will happen. Peter’s a sturdy kid. But also, Tony’s not really well versed on all this stuff. He almost tells Friday to flip a coin, carry or fly him there, but his rational brain finally takes over. It kicks his parent panic to the corner and makes him scoop up Peter, delicately of course, and take a low flying (above tree tops because they’re not getting whacked on the way to the doctor) course to the clinic, where the nurse’s eyes nearly pop out of her head. She stammers her way through the paperwork process. Peter is seen immediately by an older physician, who simply collects him and brings him back without much fuss.

Which leaves Tony to deal with the flustered nurse who literally looks like she’s about to melt into a puddle on the floor. To be fair it _is_ 3:47 AM so this is probably a little extreme for night-time injuries. Tony mindlessly scrawls information on the papers passed to him, wrinkling his nose at the insurance one.

Strictly speaking Peter isn’t part of his insurance. But Tony quickly dismisses that, telling Friday to make a note to add him to the policy. Easily done, considering this is Tony Stark they’re working with.

The physician comes back out and ushers Tony into a room where Peter has _finally_ knocked out, snoring on the cot like he wasn’t just painting a random street corner iron red. Tony has the good sense to sit down and try to untense his shoulder as the physician goes through lists of care items and thing, prescribing antibiotics which Tony knows won’t work. He just listens anyways, thanking her for her care and services. She says that he can take him home but in a _car_, not flying across the city in a suit. Probably a good idea.

He gets Friday to call Happy who is obviously very not happy about being woken up at this god forsaken hour of the night. He still grumbles that he’ll be there in ten, twenty minutes and hangs up and Tony groans once more, that headache bursting into a full-blown migraine. And he doesn’t have any ibuprofen because he forgot to restock it. 

Under his breath, in the weird yellow limelight of the fluorescent bulbs above, he finally mutters a vehement, “**_Fuck_**.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, find me at aspiratixxn.tumblr.com. Now taking requests, imagine and headcanons!
> 
> The text that was squished in the beginning notes was "and because I'm avoiding my two other fics heh". Which I am because writing is hard as you all probably know. Thanks for your views, kudos, comments and bookmarks!


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